


Your Daughter is Special

by LordZukosWife



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Physical Disability, child!Anya, child!Raven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7411207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordZukosWife/pseuds/LordZukosWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a tumblr prompt by richvrdgansiii:</p><p>“ur my daughter’s teacher and u asked to meet me after school so i got real scared and now i’m shouting at u about how u shouldn’t make assumptions about a child’s skills due to their disability” au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Daughter is Special

**Author's Note:**

> Congratulations, kru! 9 out of 11 polls won and some of you are already onto other polls :o So honored to be a part of the clexa family :)
> 
> A line was taken directly from Finding Dory, which I’m sure you’ll be able to identify. Just want to disclaim that that line isn’t mine. And while I’m at it, these characters aren’t mine either – but clexa is ours >:[
> 
> Also, I just want to add that I do not have any personal experience with disability. What’s written in this short story is based on what I see in the media and some conversations that I’ve had with friends and strangers with disabilities.

“Hi, I’m Dory, and I have short-term r-remembry loss.”

 

The movie theater is dimmed down to its bare essential lights and the only real glow is coming from the massive screen itself. Through the bluish haze Clarke tries to navigate in between rows but keeps stumbling on the moviegoers’ outstretched legs. Having to push the wheelchair in front of her in the almost pitch-black darkness only compounds the problem. The movie has already started playing and Clarke can feel Raven getting antsy in her wheelchair.

 

“Mo- _om_ , we’re _late_!” Raven whispers up at her.

 

“Oops, sorry, coming through, pardon please,” Clarke apologizes to the faceless owners of stubbed toes and short yelps of pain. “Sorry, hon,” Clarke whispers back to her daughter. “Almost there.”

 

She finally stops at the end of the row where seats for disabled persons and their companions are located. Unfortunately, a burly man surrounded by half a dozen kids is already sitting there.

 

“Excuse me, sir,” Clarke politely whispers to the man, who seems engrossed in the movie already. He looks irritably up at Clarke as she nudges him softly. “You’re in a disabled persons’ seat, and since my daughter is in a wheelchair, I would really appreciate it if you could move to a different seat.”

 

The man looks around Clarke to see a ten-year-old girl sitting in a wheelchair, a sour look evident on her face despite the dim, shifting lighting. He looks back up at Clarke apologetically. “Oh, I’m sorry but I have a lot of kids here with me. I can’t leave any of them alone. Could you please maybe, uh, find another seat?”

 

Clarke blinks, gaping slightly. Finding her voice again, she says, “Uh, no, actually, I can’t. My daughter is in a wheelchair. She needs this seat.” She looks pointedly at the seat occupied by the man. “There are other seats available here. Please don’t make me call the usher and have him to ask you to leave.”

 

The man sighs exasperatedly. “Look, ma’am, I’m with a bunch of 5- and 6-year-old girls. I can’t leave them alone. There are only one or two seats available per row and I won’t be able to keep an eye on them. I’m sorry, but we got here first.” With that, the man looks back at the movie screen, effectively ignoring the blonde woman and her brunette daughter.

 

Clarke scoffs. “Excuse me, mister, but you are required by _law_ to vacate–”

 

Someone next to them shushes Clarke. Another behind them whispers, “Could you move your head down? I can’t watch.”

 

Clarke turns again to the man, fuming. She is just about to open her mouth with a few choice words, when she feels Raven tug at her arm.

 

“Mom, let’s just go home,” she says dejectedly.

 

“Raven, we are here to watch a movie. We are going to watch it,” Clarke whispers determinedly.

 

“I don’t wanna watch this stupid movie, ok?!” Raven suddenly exclaims, followed by incessant shushing from around them. Clarke can see the usher starting to make his way towards the commotion.

 

“Raven, look, the usher’s coming. We can sort this out,” Clarke tries to coax Raven into staying but Raven just starts wheeling herself backwards. “Rae– Raven!”

 

Raven stops mid-stride and turns to her mother. “ _What_ , mom? I don’t even want to watch this movie. I don’t need some dude who’s probably never even seen a disabled person in his whole life to tell me that I can do whatever I put my mind to. I already know that. Now can we _go_?”

 

Releasing a defeated sigh, Clarke moves to help Raven out of the cramped movie theater. The moviegoers are even more annoyed the second time around they have their toes stubbed and tripped over, but Clarke is in no mood to care.

 

Once outside, Clarke wheels them over to their sedan. She opens the passenger door by the driver and picks Raven up from the wheelchair before setting her down gently inside the car. She shifts Raven’s thin, frail legs into a more comfortable position, but Raven just tsks grouchily and mutters, “I can do it myself,” before readjusting her legs ever so slightly. She purposefully avoids looking at Clarke and moodily stares out the windshield.

 

Sighing yet again, Clarke closes the door quietly, folds the wheelchair and places it in the trunk, and gets into the driver’s seat. Before turning on the car, she turns to her only daughter. “Raven…” she begins.

 

“Oh my _god_ , can we just go home?!” Raven demands heatedly.

 

Clarke’s face morphs into a stern look. “You will not talk to your mother like that, young lady!”

 

“This is all your fault!” Raven finally turns to her mother, anger blazing in her brown eyes. “If you’d just come home on time, we could have made it before that jackass–”

 

“Language!”

 

“–stole our damn seats! But you just _had_ to come late like freakin’ _always_ and now we couldn’t even watch the movie!”

 

Clarke softens at that. “Baby, you know I got stuck with a patient. I really tried to get out as soon as I could.”

 

“You _always_ use that as an excuse! _All the time!_ You know what, I don’t wanna ever go to another movie theater again. In fact, I don’t even wanna watch any movies ever again. They’re stupid. Especially the ones that are going to make stupid, cutesy jokes about disabilities and everyone’s gonna be like, ‘Oh, good job, Disney, you’re catering to retarded and handicapped kids now, yay!’”

 

“Raven, enough!” Clarke raises her voice to end Raven’s tirade before collapsing in her seat and rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, honey,” she says in a softer voice. “I– I’m sorry.” There is nothing more for her to say anyways.

 

Raven is still sulking angrily but at least she is no longer yelling. After a few moments of silence, Clarke turns the ignition on.

 

Raven’s life has never been easy, to say the least. Clarke was only 17 when she got pregnant with her. She was just a child really and she wasn’t even sure at that time how she felt for the father. It was an accident, of course, and Clarke – a mere teenager – was faced with the decision to either abort or raise the baby as her own. Of course, giving it up for adoption was also an option, but Clarke couldn’t even contemplate aborting the child, and parting with it after seeing its face in the flesh would have been too much for her. So she decided to keep it. But to ensure that she would not be alone in raising the young one, her parents allowed it under the condition that she and the father promise to marry each other someday. Little did they know that the boy who fathered Raven could barely pass off as a human being.

 

Somewhere late in the pregnancy, when Clarke could barely walk and her ankles hurt constantly, the father of the child inflicted irrevocable damage to her and to Raven. It was after a particularly stressful football game where recruiters from top universities had come to observe individual players. The father as quarterback, having worked hard all season long, expected to lead the team to victory but fumbled in the last few minutes of the game. He literally fumbled and dropped the ball, allowing the opposing team to steal it and score a touchdown. It was embarrassing. The college teams’ recruiters did not even look at him, and his dream of receiving a scholarship was shattered in mere seconds. He was usually a gentle guy, which is what attracted Clarke to him in the first place, although his eyes did have a tendency to wander a bit, but ultimately he had never gotten violent with Clarke. That is until that one night.

 

That night when it was only Clarke and him studying quietly in Clarke’s room, Clarke had voiced that she needed ice cream. She was craving it and she had an exam the next morning and she would not be able to concentrate without her mint chocolate fudge ice cream with rainbow sprinkles and cranberries on top. It was then when he lashed out at Clarke, at his daughter, and kicked Clarke in the stomach repeatedly. Clarke had cried out and her parents had intervened as soon as possible, but the damage was done. Somehow the baby’s position had been altered and her legs were blocked from developing properly. Clarke went to the hospital and he went to jail. He willingly relinquished his rights on Raven once he realized she was born damaged (even if he refused to admit it was due to his fault). Needless to say, they never married and Clarke had no desire to see him since.

 

And so, Raven’s life has not been easy. Clarke had tried to keep it all from her but she was a smart girl. She knew that her father was in jail and that he had refused to even acknowledge her as his daughter as soon as he saw how deformed she was. It is a constant reminder for Raven to look down at her legs and see what her past was, what her current predicament is, what her future holds.

 

Clarke and Raven do not say anything more to each other for several minutes. The drive back is tense but quiet, and Clarke racks her brain on how to lift Raven’s spirits.

 

While waiting at a red light, she is struck with an idea.

 

“What do you say we watch something at home? In the home theater in the loft?” Clarke glances sideways at her daughter hopefully.

 

“I don’t wanna watch anything,” Raven mumbles.

 

Oh, pre-pubescent girls. Raven is already a handful by herself – and that too not counting her mobility issues – and Clarke wonders how she will handle Raven’s teenage years as a single parent.

 

“We can watch a NASA documentary…” Clarke pauses to gauge Raven’s reaction. There is the tiniest flicker of interest in her eyes, so Clarke continues. “We still haven’t gotten around to watching ‘Cosmos’, the one with Neil deGrasse Tyson. We can go upstairs, turn out all of the lights, and I’ll make some lemonade. We can invite Anya over too.”

 

With a seemingly bored expression and looking down at her nails with a mysteriously newly acquired interest, Raven takes her time until finally half-shrugging a noncommittal yes.

 

Clarke smiles in relief and places her foot on the gas pedal when the light turns green. A few minutes later, she glances over again to see Raven on her phone, a faint smile curving her lips, likely texting Anya with the new plan.

 

Once at home, Clarke lets Raven go up to the loft on her own using the trolley attached to the staircase. She is likely going up early to tinker with the sound system that she had set up herself. In fact, the entire loft is Raven’s creation. She had had the idea to convert the square, dimly lit waste of space into a home movie theater, complete with a retractable widescreen, state-of-the-art projector, surround sound system, and comfortable couches, footrests, and bean bags. She bought the tech online and installed everything herself, going as far as to hauling herself up onto unsteady makeshift ladders and measuring out the lengths and heights of the walls to ensure the perfect angle for movie viewing. When Clarke found out that Raven had been putting herself in dangerous positions, she almost banned the entire project and threatened to throw out the projector and screen, until she went up and saw the final product.

 

After changing out of her work clothes into something more comfortable, Clarke moves into the kitchen to set about making a jug of lemonade and microwaving two bags of popcorn. She calls the local pizza joint and orders Raven and Anya’s favorite toppings. Ten minutes later, Anya waltzes through the front door and into the kitchen.

 

“Hey, Dr. Griffin,” Anya announces herself. There is an uncannily familiar bored expression on her face – lips pouting slightly in a frown, eyes hooded as though uninterested in looking at anything in particular, a slouch in the shoulders – and Clarke wonders which one of the two girls was the inspiration for the Blasé LookTM. The girl is only ten years old, like Raven, but she is already close to surpassing Clarke’s height. With the way she’s going, Clarke notes, she is bound to look like a supermodel one day.

 

“Hi, Anya,” Clarke smiles pleasantly at her daughter’s best friend. “Raven’s upstairs.”

 

“Hmm,” Anya responds. This is the new hip way of thanking people these days, it seems. Sauntering over to the staircase with a little too much _swag_ – as the kids call it nowadays – she runs her fingers through her hair, making a casual mess of it, as she climbs up lazily.

 

Clarke chuckles to herself. The girls are growing up fast, quick to act all adult-like.

 

When Clarke finally arrives up in the loft – pizzas in one hand, lemonade jug in the other, and popcorn bags gripped by her teeth (she couldn’t think of where else to put them and she _really_ wasn’t in the mood to make two trips) – the first episode is already playing. Raven is sitting at the edge of her bean bag, practically on the floor, and Anya is resting regally on one of the couches, bored expression ramped up to Level 16.

 

“Finally, pizza,” Anya huffs. Raven immediately shushes her.

 

“They’re literally just talking about dust, Rae.”

 

“ _Star_ dust.”

 

“Whatever. Dust is dust. Like water is water. And pizza is pizza.”

 

“And annoying is annoying.”

 

“Girls,” Clarke quietly reprimands while hiding her grin behind a slice of pizza.

 

“Like seriously, these astrophysics people need to get their heads checked. They’re a little too fascinated by freakin’ _dirt_.”

 

“It’s _stardust_!”

 

“Oh my god, Raven, chill.”

 

“Oh my god, Anya, shut up!”

 

 _Oh my god, kids_ , Clarke thinks, starting to feel a headache coming. “Girls!” she tries again in a louder voice. That gets their attention. Well, for a few minutes anyway.

 

“That guy has weird hair.”

 

“That’s Albert Einstein!” Raven turns incredulously to her friend.

 

“Well, for a guy who’s supposedly a genius, he sure didn’t make smart hair choices.”

 

Raven sputters into her lemonade. “Excuse _you_ , but he wrote the Special Theory of Relativity _and_ the General Theory of Relativity. He was the first scientist to postulate that there is an actual speed limit to the universe–” and Raven is off on a rant and missing most of what is happening on screen.

 

“Ew, why’s he sticking his tongue out?” Anya’s eyes, though, are still glued to the screen.

 

“He even­– wait, what?” Raven snaps her head back to the screen, only now realizing she had not been paying attention to ‘Cosmos’ for some time. Anya smirks, of course, at her little victory. Raven taps the 10-second rewind button close to a dozen times. Clarke, who had been paying attention and is not nearly as fascinated with ‘stardust’ as Raven is to watch it all again, decides to head back downstairs. Hopefully neither girl will gouge the other’s eyes out in her absence.

 

On her way down the stairs, Clarke hears Anya poking the sleeping dragon in the eye again.

 

“Your mom’s really hot.”

 

“What the hell, Anya!”

“What? She is. Totally bangable. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Now if that chick is made of stardust, I’m totally ready to explore more.”

 

“Stop talking about my mom like that! Moms aren’t bangable, ok?!”

 

 _I beg to differ,_ Clarke grins, sipping her lemonade.

 

It is Saturday afternoon and so a slower day for Clarke, for which she is eternally grateful (but also what makes today exceptionally frustrating because she truly did not expect to be held behind by a patient). She decides to check her mailbox, which is likely flooded with junk mail and bills of all kinds, since she has not gotten around to it for weeks now. Running through the mail and discarding most of it, she pauses when the house phone rings. Leaving the mail on the dining table, she picks up the phone.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hello, Mrs. Griffin?” a woman on the other line asks.

 

“Dr. Griffin.”

 

“Oh, I apologize. Dr. Griffin,” the woman corrects herself, even though Clarke had not meant it as such, only that she is not married. “I’m calling from Ark Elementary School about your daughter, Raven.”

 

“Yes…?” Clarke prompts warily.

 

“I am Ms. Woods, Raven’s fourth grade homeroom teacher. I would like to discuss Raven with you whenever is convenient for you.”

  
“Why?”

 

“Why?” the voice echoes.

 

“Yeah, why? Why do you want to talk about Raven?” Clarke asks again testily.

 

“Well,” Ms. Woods speaks slowly now and deliberately, “as you are Raven’s parent and I am her teacher, I think it is wise for us to meet and discuss her progress so far this year, especially areas of improvement.”

 

Clarke furrows her eyebrows suspiciously. This Ms. Woods is a polished little gun-bitch with her words but Clarke is quite capable of reading between the lines.

 

“Improvement? What kind of improvement?”

 

“Well, I think it would be best if we had this conversation face-to-face rather than on the phone, Dr. Griffin. When would be a good time for you?”

 

Clarke takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself before she blows off the handle. “I’m free right now.”

 

“Oh! Um, alright then. I guess I am too. Why don’t you come by the elementary school to room 214? We can talk there.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“And you don’t need to bring Raven.”

 

“Alright, give me ten minutes.” Clarke was never planning on bringing Raven anyways. Her daughter already had a terrible day and she does not need another teacher pointing out all of the flaws in her.

 

The drive to Ark Elementary School is both too long and too short. Long, because Clarke cannot wait to shove it in Ms. Silky-Voice Woods’ face how incredibly smart and talented and _strong_ her daughter is and that there is no ‘ _improvement_ ’ that Raven needs to make in order to prove how successful she will be in her life. _More successful than some lousy elementary school teacher,_ Clarke thinks bitterly. Short, because no matter how many calming breaths Clarke takes, she still does not feel like her emotions are under her control. She is a pressure cooker ready to blow and splatter its inner volatile contents onto the proverbial ceilings and walls of Ms. Woods’ probably immaculate face. White-knuckled, tight-gripped, and muttering grouchily to herself like a 90-year-old senile grandmother, Clarke pulls into the empty school parking lot and stalks towards room 214.

 

Ms. Woods is sitting at her desk by a window, the picture of pristine serenity. Her back is straight while one long leg is crossed over the other in a regal pose. Her tight black slacks mold around said legs as though they were custom-made for her and not bought at some department store at the mall like Clarke and the rest of the commoners. Her baby blue button-down shirt that is tucked into her slacks looks freshly pressed and the collar seems to be stiffened recently with starch. The top two buttons of her shirt are popped open, exposing her long neck and providing just a flash of her collarbones, but not so much as to be considered unprofessional. Her brown curls flow down her back freely, shimmering in the sunlight. A red felt-tip pen is poised in her right hand as she grades what appears to be a stack of exams.

 

Clarke’s vision flashes dangerously red as she observes how well kept Ms. Woods the Diplomatic Faultfinder is and how unkempt Clarke herself is in her casual clothes. She realizes belatedly that she probably should have changed back into her work clothes before storming into this so-called meeting. But no worries. Ms. Woods is about to get an earful from a raging blonde 27-year-old mother wearing frilly pink flip-flops, a loose, tattered Disneyworld t-shirt, and her oversized, soccer-mom-like sweatpants. First time for everything, Ms. Woods!

 

Almost immediately, Ms. Woods looks up as Clarke walks in. She blinks a few times as she looks Clarke up and down but eventually murmurs, “Yes?”

 

“Clarke Griffin. Raven’s mother.” Clarke responds as intimidatingly as possible, despite her ears turning pink from embarrassment at her attire. She folds her arms across her chest and lifts her chin up high defiantly.

 

“Oh, yes!” Ms. Woods’ smile is alarming to say the least. Whereas before the young woman was stiff with her lips set in a thin line, her smile breaks that tough exterior down startlingly fast. Her teeth are dazzlingly white, her cheekbones prominent and flushed a healthy pink, and the slightest of crinkles appear at the corners of her eyes as her smile reaches all the way to the top of her face. “Dr. Griffin! Please have a seat. I’m Lexa Woods. You can call me Lexa.”

 

 _Well, you can just call me your worst nightmare,_ Clarke thinks begrudgingly but takes a seat at a student desk near Lexa.

 

“Thank you for meeting me at such short notice,” Lexa says, as she moves her neat pile of exams to the side of her desk. “There is much that we need to discuss.” Clarke narrows her eyes but remains quiet.

 

“Raven is… a special young woman, as I’m sure many have already said to you. She is quite bright. She always seems to have an answer to every question I throw at her – although I have noticed that she doesn’t tend to volunteer any answers herself. I usually have to pointedly ask her myself, and even then she can be quite sarcastic in her responses–”

 

“Oh, is that an _improvement_ that she should make, _Ms. Woods_?” Clarke interrupts, seething. “What, is she not _polite_ enough for you? Well, at least she’s not a goddamn fake like you are!”

 

“I’m sorry…?”

 

“Oh, you better be!” Clarke is up in a flash. “Why should my daughter have to _volunteer_ answers in class? Why should she have to act like all the other kids in order to be appreciated? Gee, I’m sorry if she chooses not to be a perfect little _princess_ like you!“

 

Lexa looks up at Clarke in alarm. “Have I done something to offend you?” she asks meekly.

 

“Yes! You and every other teacher Raven has ever had the misfortune to meet treat her like she’s handicapped. Yes, she is handicapped! Yes, she was born with legs that don’t work! But she is also a _gem_. She is brilliant and motivated and hard-working and determined as hell to make something of her life. And if she’s sarcastic while doing it? Then so be it!

 

“Do you know how many projects my daughter is working on right now? Do you know how much she has accomplished at the age of _ten_ that most MIT graduates probably struggle with? All by herself, she built a movie theater in the loft in our house. _Handicapped and all._ She’s working on converting a walkie-talkie into a TV remote. She’s already using an old cell phone as the remote for a remote-controlled car. She’s bought a second-hand car from a junkyard and she’ll turn it into a racecar one day. All of this she has accomplished with her hands and her brain, never once needing her legs.

 

“But what do people like you see?” Clarke shifts her voice to a higher, mocking pitch. “‘Oh, she has no use of her legs so there’s no way she’ll amount to anything in life!’ ‘Oh, it’s best to be realistic, Dr. Griffin, as your child is _special_.’ ‘Your child is smart but she needs to learn some manners!’” Clarke shifts back to yelling. “What do you know about her life? Do you know how hard it has been for her? But no! All you people care about is conforming her to the rest of society. I know she isn’t perfect! I know that I could have done a better job with her! But she is a child who has had to grow up too fast, too soon…” Clarke wipes away furiously at a tear that escapes her eye without her consent. “So what if she’s a little rude? She’s a good kid…” Clarke is all out sobbing now. Lexa stands up but maintains her distance, unsure of how they had gotten to this point and what she should do next.

 

“But she’s like this because of me,” Clarke continues in a broken voice, leaning against her desk as though unable to support her own weight anymore. “Because she wants to spend time with her mom but I’m too busy with work to be around when she needs me. And she needed me then too. But I couldn’t fight back. I was too weak. And when he– when he k-kicked me, I was too weak to fight back. And now she’s like this because of me…”

 

Lexa is unsure of what Clarke is referring to, but she has a vague idea. She hesitates at first, but chooses not to think too hard as she lifts one hand and places it lightly on Clarke’s shoulder. This one touch is enough to break the dam within Clarke, and she is crying uncontrollably now, shrinking within herself, the guilt festering within her for a decade now clawing its way out. Slowly but surely, Lexa pulls Clarke into a tight embrace, letting the blonde rest her tear-soaked head on her chest and cling to the back of her shirt.

 

They stay this way for longer than either really registers. The silence is broken occasionally by Clarke’s sobs until they turn into sniffles. When she pulls back, so embarrassed to the point of not really caring anymore, she first sees the dampness in the now rumpled blue shirt. She is afraid to look farther up so keeps her eyes trained on the dampness, outlining it with her gaze, and the now slightly off-center collar. She can feel a pair of eyes scrutinizing her though, and she eventually braves up to looking at Lexa’s face.

 

She is surprised by the compassion in her eyes. They are a deep green – a minor detail she did not notice earlier when all she could see was red – and filled with a softness she is sure she does not deserve at this moment. Clarke feels vulnerable and unsure of what to say, but Lexa is yet to let go of her.

 

“You’re right,” Lexa begins in a soothing voice. “Raven is a very special girl for all the reasons you mentioned. But there is one reason that makes her more special than everyone else.”

 

 _What’s that?_ Clarke wants to ask.

 

“She has the world’s best mother.” Lexa’s smile is filled with pure warmth and understanding and awe. Clarke, on the other hand, frowns and looks away, clearly disagreeing. But Lexa dips her head down to catch Clarke’s gaze once again, and Clarke feels she has no choice but to oblige.

 

“Few mothers are as understanding and supportive of their kids as you are to Raven. When the rest of the world tells her that she should give up, you motivate her and tell her to keep going. Who do you think gave her the courage to pursue all these projects?” When Clarke looks up confused at her, Lexa lets go of her and reaches into her desk drawer. “I would like to show you something, Dr. Griffin.” She hands Clarke two sheets of notebook paper stapled together, and Clarke can recognize Raven’s chicken scratch on it. “I asked all students to write about their role models. I would like you to read Raven’s response.”

 

It is about her. Clarke is Raven’s role model. Feeling fresh tears in her eyes, Clarke reads through Raven’s descriptions of her: how Raven wants to be successful like her mom, how she will never give up on her projects just as her mother never gives up on a patient, how her mom was brave enough to raise a daughter with special needs at the delicate age of 17 and it makes Raven want to be just as brave. As she reads the last line of the essay a second time, she feels Lexa walk around to her side and wrap an arm around her shoulders supportively.

 

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Lexa begins quietly. She sticks out her right hand and smirks. “Hi, I’m Ms. Woods, Raven’s homeroom teacher. You can call me Lexa. I’d like to talk about Raven with you today.” Clarke chuckles but shakes her hand anyway.

 

“Raven is a very special young woman. Incredibly bright and talented with quite the attitude, which I find rather endearing. I am impressed with all of the projects she has been involved with, and I’m even more impressed now that I’ve met her mother,” Lexa adds as Clarke blushes slightly. “With a little bit of guidance, she could really improve her skills in engineering and design. She is bound for success, especially with such a supportive family backing her. Which brings me to why I wanted to meet you.”

 

Lexa leans over and pulls a colorful pamphlet off of her desk. She hands it to Clarke, who opens it slowly. “Summer vacation is coming soon and I think you should consider sending Raven to this camp.”

 

“This is NASA…” Clarke looks up at Lexa in awe.

 

Lexa smiles widely. “Yes, I am well aware of Raven’s slight obsession with NASA. I only found out about this science camp today and I immediately thought of Raven. There is a competitive application, but I am certain Raven will have no problem getting in. And, of course, I am more than willing to write a glowing letter of recommendation for her.”

 

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

 

“You don’t need to say anything. Take this home, think about it, check out their website, and try to reign in Raven’s enthusiasm.” Lexa chuckles.

 

“Thank you, Lexa.” Clarke smiles softly, which morphs into a look of utter horror. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I called you a fake. I even called you a princess!”

 

“Well, that’s not so bad. I’ve always wanted to be a princess,” Lexa grins and winks.

 

Clarke blinks and blushes deeply. She hopes Lexa thinks her flushed skin in merely due to her crying episode from earlier.

 

(Incredible how seductive a person can look once one realizes she’s not a douche-canoe.)

 

“Well, would this princess be interested in getting some coffee with this peasant as part of my sincerest apologies?”

 

“As long as the coffee is followed by a dinner date, and the ‘peasant’ starts referring to herself as a princess instead? Or maybe a commander of an army, since I’m guessing you don’t like to be called a princess?” Lexa bites her bottom lip hopefully as she awaits Clarke’s response.

 

(So the blushing had not passed off as part of her post-bawling response.)

 

(And it’s doing a piss-poor job now too.)

 

Clarke laughs and nods slightly. “I suppose that is an acceptable deal,” she says mock-formally, nose sticking high.

 

Lexa stands up and mock salutes, making Clarke giggle. “Excellent, Commander! I look forward to this alliance then.”

 

Clarke stands up too. “Thank you again, Lexa. I think I’m going to go back home first and change, now that I’ve been promoted from peasant to commander.” Lexa laughs and nods, spreading warmth from Clarke’s heart to her fingertips.

 

“Yeah, actually I do need to finish grading these tests. How does 6 pm tonight sound?”

 

Clarke nods in response, and the two exchange numbers. She tries not to look back as she leaves the classroom but fails miserably, and Lexa is standing there, her posture much relaxed from before, hands loosely hanging in her pockets, and a twinkle in her eyes. They smile shyly at each other again, and this time Clarke is the one left wondering how they got to this point and what she should do next.

 

Once at home, she notices Raven and Anya have moved down to the living room and playing Mario Cart. The bored look is a little harder to maintain now on Anya’s face, but Raven pauses the game as soon as Clarke enters the house, and it’s back to hooded eyes and pouty lips for Anya.

 

“Hey, mom, where were you?”

 

“I was at your school, Raven, talking to L– uh, Ms. Woods.”

 

“Wearing that?” Raven cocks an eyebrow.

 

Clarke flushes. “I was in a hurry.”

 

“Whatever,” Raven turns back to the game, bored expression now migrated onto her face. “She’s cool. Ms. Woods.” Clarke smiles and takes a seat on the couch, watching the girls play. “What the actual fuck, Anya?” she exclaims, as Anya overtakes her and leaves behind some banana peals right in front of Raven’s car.

 

“Raven Abigail Griffin! Enough with the foul language!”

 

Raven huffs. “Sorry, sorry.”

 

“You know,” Anya pipes in without moving her eyes from the screen, “your name is like a hybrid Hogwarts house. Raven Griffin.”

 

“What? You calling me smart _and_ brave?”

 

“No. Just your name.”

 

“So you’re saying you like my name?”

 

Anya frowns. “No, your name is really weird. Isn’t a griffin like this creepy combo of two animals? So you’re like three animals combined. Which makes sense ‘cause you’re pretty uncivilized.”

 

“So… you’re saying I am as strong as a lion, I soar above others like an eagle, and I’m a symbol of good luck like the raven?”

 

Anya frowns more deeply and her eyebrows furrow as she realizes that this is the third time she has accidentally almost complimented her friend. Seems like Raven is winning this round. “Ah, damn it,” Anya curses under her breath when she loses her first place position. A few seconds later, the game is over.

 

“…Mind if I slytherin for the next game?” Clarke asks slyly.

 

“Mo-om! No adults allowed! And that was a terrible pun.” Clarke laughs and moves to get up from the couch.

 

“Can I slytherin to your bed?” Anya says under her breath.

 

“It’s ‘may I’,” Clarke corrects.

 

Anya entire face turns beet red and her eyes seem ready to pop out of her skull. Clarke only chuckles and ruffles the tall girl’s hair playfully as she walks past her. She climbs up the stairs while holding onto the NASA summer camp pamphlet. At the top of the stairs, she gazes down at the two kids lovingly. She decides to leave the pamphlet in Raven’s room for her to find before bedtime, knowing full well she will be awake all night once Raven finds it.

 

She turns to walk into her room to get ready for her date with the woman who found a way to lift not only her spirits, but her daughter’s as well, in the same day.

**Author's Note:**

> All those who've never had a crush on your friend's mom... go stand in that corner and think about what you've just admitted.
> 
> I am still pretty new to writing, so feedback is much appreciated :)


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